


What I lost

by Moosen



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 17:50:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1697075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moosen/pseuds/Moosen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Timing was everything in the world. If you were one minute late or one minute early, it could make your life or even destroy it completely.<br/>Bucky will wonder every day why he couldn't have gotten to that back alley five minutes earlier. Maybe everything would've been different.<br/>Maybe Steve would still be with him today.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What I lost

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a prompt on tumblr via the rp community.

He’d gotten his official orders and would be shipping off in the morning. He needed to tell Steve, had to finally admit to him that was being drafted. He always knew that he was going to have to tell him, he just wished that he didn’t. His dad had been in the forces. Had died in ‘em too. He didn’t have any death wishes to follow in those footsteps and get slaughtered. Maybe at least he’d get to do it overseas after taking down Nazi scumbags unlike his old man. Poor guy died in training. What a shoddy way to go.

Shaking his head, he lowered his gaze to the ground. He missed his old man some days. Guy had been a good father. When he was around anyway. At least he knew his old man far better than Steve knew his. He didn’t get a chance, not when he died before he’d gotten back from the last war.

Poor Steve.

And now _he_ was going to be goin’ overseas and probably not comin’ back. He knew that it was going to break his heart. For multiple reasons. One there was the chance he wouldn’t make it back and... Well Buck knew how bad Steve wanted to go. How much he wanted to fight and just _prove_ himself. He’d had a hard life and people never made it easier. So Bucky always tried. He wanted to make sure Steve felt..well adequate enough for the world.

Like he didn’t have to prove a thing.

Never seemed to work.

Rounding the corner near the movie theater, he was slammed into by some kid. His arse hit the pavement hard and the kid opened his mouth as if about to apologize but nothing came out before he ran off.

“Yeah, yeah run away ya lil shit.” He called after him, getting up and dustng himself off. He glanced down at the ground only to pause.

There were droplets of blood.

His blood ran cold and he quickly followed the trail. Why he was panicked he didn’t know. There was absolutely _no_ logic to jump to conclusions, to make any assumptions but that didn’t stop the beating of his heart, the way his breath hitched as he turned the alley and saw a pair of spindly legs sticking out from behind some trashcans.

The world tilted and he moved forward without a moments hesitation. He slammed into the wall, unable to stop himself as he turned to look.

The world went black momentarily. His body ambled forward, dropping to his knees as he reached out.

“Steve?” He croaked, vision slowly returning to look at the mans bloodied face. It’s not Steve it’s can’t be. Bile was rising in the back of his throat as he noted there was _no chest movement._ His hands scramble, fingers gently pressing against his throat.

No pulse.

“Steve?” His hands tap against his cheeks lightly, then harder as there’s no reaction. “C’mon buddy. Say something. Say anything.” The words are shaky, eyes going wide. He’s gonna be fine. He’s gotta be. His hands come away warm and sticky from the blood on his face. He needs help. They gotta get him to the hospital. Scrambling to his feet, he runs to the end of the alley.

“ _Somebody help._ ” He calls, voice scratching against his throat. “ _My friend is hurt. He’s badly hurt. **Somebody please.**_ ” He wasn’t sure if it was his voice or his uniform that caught the attention but people came racing over. “ _Just call an ambulance. Please dear God call an ambulance._ ” He didn’t say another word before turning on his heel. He bolted back to Steve. He needed to get him breathing again.

His hands were shaking violently and he could barely see as he tilted Steve’s head back. Everything was bleary. “You’re gonna be okay you punk. You hear me? You’re gonna be okay.” Placing his hands over the smaller mans chest lightly he started to press down, pumping against his bones. He counted under his breath until he got to thirty. The moment he hit thirty he moved a hand to the mans nose and lightly pinched it.

The high pitched wail that escaped his was that akin to a dying animal and the cartilage just _shifted_ underneath his fingers. He choked on the bile in the back of his mouth but forced it back down. He needed to save Steve. He needed to. Taking a deep, shaking breath, he pressed his mouth against Steve’s and pushed air into the mans non-moving lungs.

God his lips were cold.

Pulling back, he had to force back a sob as he took another breath before pressing his mouth to Steve’s once again. It easily went in but there was no reaction. There was _nothing_ from the small man below him.

He could hear voices around him as he placed his hands over Steve’s chest and began pumping again. He didn’t pay any attention to the words. “ _Shut up._ ”He yelled, voice cracking violently as he got to thirty once more. He pressed his mouth against Steve’s, breathing all the air he had in his own lungs until he had to reel back coughing. Sputtering, he struggled to pull in a breath, his chest tight but he managed before pressing his mouth to Steve’s once more.

Still nothing.

He was going to be fine though. Steve Rogers could pull through anything. _Anything._ He moved his hands to his chest again, pressing down harder and faster. He could feel the mans ribs crack, he could even _hear_ it. His hands flew away, eyes going wide and a sob forcing its way out.

“Steve. _Steve. Please just breathe. Just one breath. C’mon buddy. This ain’t funny you fucking punk._ ” His wrists are weak, hands shaking as he places them down again and begins the actions all over. “ _Get up. Get **up. Nobody is fucking laughing. Your jokes were never funny you asshole.**_ ”

“Sir you need to –“

“ ** _Shut up!_** ” He slaps the hand that touches his shoulder away violently, finally hitting thirty again. He presses his mouth once again to Steve’s. It’s gotten colder.

Fingers dig into his shoulders and a scream tears its way out of him. “Let me _go. I need to save my friend._ ” He barely registers the sound of sirens.

“Sir I’m sorry but you’ve done what you can-“

“No.”

“Sir.”

“I _fucking said no. Steve isn’t dead. He can’t be dead._ ”

I need him.

“Sir. Judging from everything, he was gone before you got here. There was nothing that anybody could do.”

“No.” The word was so quiet. And so broken as the arms restrained him and pulled him away. All he could do was stare at that bleary shape of his best friend, of the man he loved, as it got further and further away. He could feel the blood cooling on his face. Could taste it in his mouth which brought fresh bile rising up.

If he’d been five minutes sooner. If he’d gotten here earlier. Steve would still be with him. He wouldn’t have let Steve down. God what was he going to do without him.

For the first time he was fine with being shipped overseas.


End file.
